


A Delicate Balance

by stopmopingstarthoping



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Cock Worship, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Glove Kink, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Kinktober, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Slapping, very light shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: He knows how to ask, and to obey, and she knows how to give him what he needs.





	1. Chapter 1

Ravus hears Aranea turn off the shower and waits a few minutes for her to get dressed before he approaches. She looks surprised to see him suddenly in the doorway, but the teasing look she gives in response to his intense, ardent one is familiar.

She turns to take him in fully; white buttondown shirt, gray pants - clothing specifically chosen _not_ to echo the trappings of battle. He's just a man today, and he needs her so badly he can't find the words to say it.

He closes his eyes in relief when her smile deepens and she raises one hand. When he opens his eyes again, her middle finger is teasing at the pad of her thumb, and he can't look away. When she finally snaps her fingers, he drops to his knees without further thought. Further thought, beyond this point, belongs to Aranea. It’s at her direction, and Ravus is so grateful he's trembling.

Skin touches metal as he crosses his wrists behind his back and bows his head. He can feel relief flooding through him already as he gazes at Aranea's bare toes in front of him. This simple pose is so sweetly soothing; he'll wait here as long as he must, as long as she wants; he is nothing but her plaything for the next few hours.  The reassurance of it sweeps through his chest, and he exhales deeply.

Ravus wonders idly if he'll wait; if he'll serve; if he'll hurt. All of these options are equally appealing, and he need not choose. He waits; and attempts not to sigh as contentment fills him again. His chest pounds with anticipation.

Aranea steps forward softly on bare feet and tips his chin up. Ravus looks up, questioning, and she kisses him, hard; claiming him, sweeping a demanding tongue into his mouth, and he catches his breath and responds. She loves him like this, subservient yet passionate, and he does not disguise how much he wants her. He leans his head into her hand when she presses it against his cheek, slides his tongue against hers and sighs up into her mouth.

He’s surprised, then, when she pulls away, drops down cross-legged in front of him, grins. Scarlet-tipped fingers reach to trace his length through thin layers of fabric, and he shivers. She scoots closer and cups him in her hand - he’s already grown hard from their kiss and from the anticipation, and he throbs and holds back a gasp when she squeezes. She shoots him a dark gaze as he bites his lip. Ravus does have his tricks, after all, and he knows which of his looks work best on Aranea.

He’s correct, and her deft hands make quick work of belt buckle and zipper. She doesn’t ask him to help, doesn’t tell him to do anything. She frees his cock; her eyes widen; he gives her a close-lipped smile.

The stream of gorgeous, filthy praise that falls from between Aranea’s perfect lips has Ravus clenching his fists. He wants desperately to break position and reach out for the door frame, for her, for anything, but he resists, pulling in a sharp breath and then another. She doesn’t touch him again yet, just looks and teases.

“You’re so hard for me, just look at you.” She presses her lips together and licks them, and a satisfied hum turns into a throaty growl. “Beautiful.”

“Up. Stand up.” Aranea flicks her index finger in direction.

Ravus, confused, gets to his feet with some difficulty, his pants and briefs still tangled around his thighs, cock bobbing thick between his legs. As he’s waiting to be instructed, the slick heat of her plush lips envelops him and he does gasp then. Loudly. His arms remain where they are, with effort, but his body curves back into a tense arc and he moans again as she flicks her tongue over him.

His head drops back as she works him with practiced ease, her mouth loving and gentle and forceful at once. She pops off him with a wet noise and licks him from base to tip, eyes traveling over his shaft and then snapping up to meet his own gaze. When she slides him against her tongue again, she takes him all the way in, burying her nose in the pale strands at his base.

Ravus sucks in a breath and looks down as she pulls back. He watches her lips slide over him, and the sensation makes his own lips part. A puff of breath gusts back out as he feels her tongue again, and he grits his teeth to avoid making noise. She's got her eyes closed now, and he wants to keep his own open, but the warm, wet heat of Aranea's mouth is overwhelming. As she moves with increasing speed, he feels a strong hand close over his length, stroking.

Ravus feels the front of his thighs clench and release. Aranea's other hand slides up around the side of his hip to get a better grip. She's enjoying this, absorbed in her task, and he watches as much as he can, before his eyes close again in ecstasy. He feels the contrast in sensations between the touch of her breath as she pulls off him and the glide of her mouth as she takes him back in.

She’s slamming him against the back of her throat, and he’s moaning - his hand has now somehow found the ledge of the sink to cling to, and he’s racing toward release, tingling, surging -

And she stops.

Stands up, in one swift motion, and moves away from him.

“Don’t come. You know the rules.” She waits, and crosses her arms.

He pants, strains, mouth open in disbelief. Metal fingers squeeze the base of his own cock as tight breaths hiss through Ravus’ teeth. It’s unpleasant, but he knows he won’t injure himself. With considerable effort, he wrenches himself back from the brink, chest heaving, cock throbbing dark red and miserable.

He looks up at her through falling strands of hair, still bent over his furiously leaking cock, struggling to follow her command.

She watches him, predatory, eyes shining.

“Take one of the dining room chairs into my bedroom and wait for me there.”

He nods, still gasping for breath, and waiting until he can tuck himself back into his pants without coming from the mere contact.

Lightly, she steps around him into the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of a handcuff being clicked, and Ravus’ flinch makes Aranea’s eyes glow with pleasure. She rips his shirt the rest of the way off, a swift pull down his other arm, and throws it to the floor before clicking the other cuff into place, metal on metal.  His breaths quicken, and she admires the contrast of his porcelain-hued skin against the dark black wood of the chair. Her bootheels strike the floor with certainty and no small amount of threat as she circles him. White strands fall over his face as he tilts his head down and to the side, acknowledging, submitting.

“Why do you _like_ this so much?” She teases, knowing he doesn’t know, won’t answer her unless she tells him to. Watches the flex of his shoulders as he pulls against the cuffs, futile, probably for her benefit. It’s quite beautiful, and she appreciates it, tracing a finger across a deltoid. His eyes follow her finger, and she pauses for the long moment she knows he expects, before striking a sharp slap across his cheek.

His head flings to the other side then; hair tangles; the fine bone of his jaw and line of his neck are exposed to Aranea’s view, but she’s distracted. His cock jumps and throbs, and she watches the line of it under the fabric of his pants. She looks up at him, and back down, and he squirms. She leans forward, and eases lips down onto his neck, then teeth; a nip, then a harder press, sucking at the delicate skin, biting, lingering, drawing a light moan from Ravus in response.

She’s not afraid to mark him, and she thinks about how he trusts her to do it, to do any number of fun and dangerous things to him when they're like this, and how much he loves her fearlessness. Aranea's chest swells. She watches the tension pass from Ravus' forehead as she smooths his hair back with a leather-clad hand. Her fingers comb his hair and push their way into it, drawing into a fist, and she watches his chest rise and fall faster.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” Her voice is just a little husky as she bends over him, as if to lend proof to her words. She pulls harder at his hair, and he gasps, but no signal, no safeword. Aranea twists her fist, tightening her grip; the glove creaks and she looks again at the contrast of white on black, this time glossy strands with the sheen of leather underneath. He strains, hips rising off the chair, and eyes, one violet, one blue, burn into her. He can take more than this, she knows.

When she lets go, his chest heaves again, and she rakes her gaze down. She slides her fingers around his jaw to push at his lips, and he understands without being told. He opens his mouth, and she slips her index finger inside. She feels his tongue through the smooth leather and he closes his lips around her finger, eyes cast upward in pure subjugation.

Aranea closes her own eyes for a brief moment; he’s rattled her composure and he knows it. She feels his teeth gently bite down on the fabric at the tip of her finger, and she pulls in a sharp breath. He tugs the fabric as loose as he can, and looks up at her. She nods, and he moves to the next finger.

By the time he’s finished, enough to pull the glove loose, her thighs are trembling. He yanks it off, turns his head, and lets it dangle from his mouth for a brief moment before dropping it free.  She watches his lips fall open, and moves forward to claim them.

She sits on his lap, shifting herself to grind on the hardness there, and he whines into her kiss. She chuckles in the back of her throat and presses down harder, shoving her tongue into his mouth and gripping at his hair again, rough, and he gasps loudly now. He wants more, but rolls his eyes up to her, begging. He hasn’t had a chance to calm from the earlier tease of Aranea’s mouth and hands, and he’s too close to the edge.

She’s grinding her hips down against him, faster, and he begs her to stop, slow down, as he pushes toward the limits of his self-control.

“Please - I can’t -”

She slaps him again, hard, without stopping the motion of her hips, and he lets out a breathy yelp, then grits his teeth. The panic on his face is palpable, and she knows he’s no longer able to hold back.

“Fuck. Please, I don’t - I’m -” He’s babbling, and she refuses his plea, shoving herself down on him as he pushes up, reflexively, helplessly, rutting against fabric and heat and flesh. Defeat gusts through his teeth, and she feels wet warmth spread beneath her. He throbs against her, and she moans, gripping the back of his neck and riding him as he does it. He closes his eyes and pulses, right through his efforts to stem it, and she yanks his head back as his mouth falls open.

“Absolutely filthy. And without permission!” Her voice is rough.

She sees his eyes widen as he looks at her and mouths the words _I’m sorry,_  but she’s got his head pulled back so far he can’t draw breath to voice them. She lets go, and he dips his head forward to look at her through falling hair.

His voice rasps. “I’m sorry, I want to obey you. Please, let me try - I want to be good.” The words are punctuated with staccato breaths; he’s still squirming from aftershocks, and something more. He knows she’ll punish him, and do it ruthlessly. She looks at him appreciatively, scanning every inch of him straining in this chair before her, his shame spreading in a dark stain at his crotch and crimson ones on chest and cheeks.

Aranea takes off her other glove and prods it between willing teeth.

“Sorry, huh?  Oh, you will be.” A taunting threat laces her words.

The look Ravus gives her makes her throb in response, and she knows he knows it.


	3. Chapter 3

Aranea loosens her grip in Ravus’ hair and stands up, pulling herself off his lap. She looks down at him, self-satisfied and menacing at once. He feels the flush still staining his skin, and his lips are still open, breaths gusting around the leather glove she’s shoved into his mouth. He watches her chest rise and fall, and knows she’s not done with him yet, not by far.

He's confused when she crisply fetches the key to the handcuffs from the dresser and unclasps his wrists. She pulls him up, roughly, and he looks at her in surprise. She doesn’t give him a chance to get cleaned up, just throws him face first onto her bed, and the damp, sticky mess in his pants goes with him, proof of his disobedience.

She leans close to his back, murmuring into his ear. “You thought I was going to hurt you, didn’t you?”  He nods, wordlessly, thrilling to the idea - she’s quite good at it. “Is that what you want?” She plucks her glove from his teeth, allowing him to answer.

He nods again; a short whisper. “Please.” His back shivers as her hair swings delicately across it, and he starts to turn his head.

“No peeking. You know the rules.”

She laughs then, a low, throaty purr, and she’s gone. Ravus stays where she’s put him, face nestled into her coverlet, silky smooth and smelling of faint fall leaves and clean cotton. He wonders what she’s up to, and anticipates the sharp strike of leather across his back. Or her hand, perhaps. He closes his eyes and swallows hard.

Aranea returns, those boots striking the floor in the cadence he loves; it sounds like punishment and strictness and the harsh rhythm of the way they love each other, and his back tenses; waiting, wanting.

No firm blow, not today. Smooth hands trace down his sides to his hips, and his pants are unbuckled, and then in one swift motion he’s naked. He clenches his hands in her bedsheets, and hears but doesn’t feel the fabric crumple under his prosthetic hand. His gaze shifts to the lamplight glinting off its silver-blue surface, and he thinks about how Aranea has never asked him to take it off; never minded if he did; never done anything but accept him however he brings himself to her.

Lost in thought, he sucks in a breath of surprise when he feels a slick finger probe his entrance. His body had been prepared for pain, not pleasure, and a moan is lost into the bed. He turns his head to look at her, questioning.

“You know you don’t always get what you want, don’t you babe?” He nods slowly as her finger continues its slow, gentle probing. So gentle. His body relaxes and he lets out another soft noise.

“You broke the rules. So I get what I want. And what I want,” she finally slides her finger inside, and Ravus bites down on his lower lip, “is to fuck you.”

He struggles to refrain from making any further sounds, and her finger continues its gentle motion. Aranea's other hand massages in front, stroking and pressing into his perineum, cupping his balls, pointedly ignoring his cock.  Ravus mentally curses the fact that she knows every inch of him, even as his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. He relaxes, and a second finger joins the first, applying soft, expert pressure. It makes him tingle and tense, despite her slow movements.

Aranea withdraws her fingers just as Ravus begins to squirm and expect a third. He whines then, and she swats his ass playfully.

“This what you want?” A slippery push, and he recognizes one of their favorite toys. Aranea is businesslike, though, almost routine with her movements. Once Ravus is comfortably accommodating it, starting to enjoy the slide and the pull of it, this too disappears, and he exhales in defeat.

He realizes, now, what his punishment is, and quivers a little awaiting the next bit of Aranea's exquisite torture.  

The strike of boots again, and another probe at his entrance. It feels...massive, and Ravus’ eyes widen in apprehension. Soothing hands trace circles over his skin.

“You can do this. Come on, take it for me.” She nudges, gently, and Ravus gasps as he’s spread, slick. He feels more lube, and impossibly, the tip slips inside, and the burn is delicious. Ravus lets out a long, low moan, and as he feels himself adjust, tries to push backward, hungry to feel more.

Aranea’s hand on his hip tells him she’s wearing this massive thing, and he feels his own cock swell in response, imagining what she looks like. 

“My pace. Slow down, greedy.” She scrapes a nail down the middle of his back and stills his hips with her words and her hands.

He flops his head to the side, damp on her cool blankets and lets out a deep, needy pant. “Do you want me to beg?”

“No, I want you to take your punishment.” She pushes another millimeter into him, and Ravus whines. As she slides, agonizingly slowly, she keeps talking.

“If you’d been able to control yourself, instead of making that little mess in the chair, maybe I’d be pounding you right now. Maybe.” She slides in a little more, gripping Ravus’ hips tightly.

She draws out the first word thoughtfully. “Or maybe not. I am enjoying your little show; you're so pretty.” The last word is a dirty snarl, accompanied by another minuscule but sharp thrust.

Another breathy gust of air escapes Ravus; his eyes are screwed shut and his hands are gripping the bedsheets. It hurts and it doesn’t; it’s intense and all-encompassing and he’s just letting Aranea move into him. He wants her to speed up, but fears that having his wish granted might split him in two.

His skin is burning hot, and he feels the cold shock of yet more lube and the firm stroke of fingers down his back. “You’re doing so good.” She murmurs, touching him gently, reassuring him that he can tap out. He doesn't.

He wonders to himself where in the hell she got this enormous thing, and then he feels the touch of her against him. She’s bottomed out, and he’s so incredibly full. Ravus closes his eyes. His body jolts as she pulls slowly out of him and then inches her way back in.

“If you’re quiet, I’ll start fucking you.”

His hair rustles on fabric as he nods.

Aranea pushes his shoulders forward, roughly now, and he goes, a little senseless, a little dazed. She climbs up behind him and presses all the way in. Ravus goes ahead and groans loudly. This thing is enormous, and fuck her if she wants to punish him for making noise at this point.

Even those thoughts fall away, though, as Aranea starts pumping faster. Ravus is lost to sensation, to propping himself up to take her relentless strokes.  
  
He hears her breath grow choppy, and she increases her pace. He closes his eyes as she drives down into him, making some lovely sounds of her own, guttural and urgent.  She’s sending currents of pleasure through him with every perfectly-angled thrust, and Ravus’ head is spinning. He’s shaking, close again, close to flinging out of control.

“Nope.” Aranea chuckles.

She stops just before he drops over the edge and withdraws completely. Ravus almost sobs in frustration, trying to stop his hips from their instinctive grinding into the bed as he seeks release.

“Turn over.”

He focuses on obeying, on following her command, clings to it the way his hands cling to the bed to avoid touching his leaking cock. He watches her delicately unstrap the harness - she slides part of it out of herself as well. She’d been fucking herself as violently as she fucked him, and the thought makes him clench his fists and grit his teeth.

His eyes plead, though he won’t beg her another time, not with words. She fucking knows.

Aranea climbs up on the bed, onto him, and kisses him deeply, tangling her tongue with his and the warmth of her mouth is consuming but not enough. He feels his cock throb where it’s trapped between the two of them and shamelessly ruts against her silky skin, moaning into her mouth. She knows he’s damn near lost his mind at this point.

She smiles at him lovingly and glides newly slickened fingers inside him. Another hand, also slippery with lube, grasps around his shaft, and Ravus flings his head back into the pillow, chest heaving. She presses gently on the spot that makes him see stars as she pumps her other hand, slowly, and then faster.

High-pitched sounds are falling from Ravus’ lips now, and he cranes his neck up to watch her. As the tip of his cock disappears in her fist, she twists her wrist and he feels the fingers inside him move. They lock eyes.

“Come, Ravus.” Her voice is strong and insistent, and he obeys with a shout. He forgets himself completely and fucks up into her hand, growling and thrashing in his release.

Pleasure seeps into every muscle as he tenses, releases, tenses again. Ravus is dimly aware of wet spatters everywhere, and when he rides the wave back down and is able to open his eyes, Aranea is grinning at him. She laughs, lightly. It's not unkind, more in wonder as she looks around. He lets out a weary chuckle as well. He isn't sure if she made a gigantic mess on purpose; Aranea does that sometimes, but there is a lot. Come trails over him, her, the bed, and Ravus' eyes close as his chest bounces in another laugh. Fitting. She's made a mess of him as well - a blissful, undone, tingling mess, and he opens his eyes to seek her out. 

He's floating, a little, and feels her nestle her head close to the few parts of him that aren't sticky: his neck, his hair. She sighs happily before Ravus feels lips press gently to his jaw, and he echoes the satisfied noise back to her. He turns to capture her lips and then pulls back to meet her eyes in a long, searching, grateful look that she returns with a wide smile. They postpone the inevitable cleanup long enough to breathe each other in, share a few more soft kisses, and relax not quite enough to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of what I've fondly named Ravneatober, written for Day 24's pegging prompt, but a few more kinks have crept in around the edges for sure. Thanks for reading if you got this far!


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